


September 21

by AeeDee



Category: Red Hood and the Outlaws
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Anal Sex, Bloodplay, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeeDee/pseuds/AeeDee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On September 21st, Roy Harper, Jason Todd and Koriand'r get rebooted.  Imagine waking up to realize your life has changed. You have changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	September 21

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a "new 52" / Reboot Universe fanfiction. This is a supernatural reboot event happening to our trio, as they existed just prior to the new 52 series' launch. An alternate take on the concept.

Sounds like echoes inside his head. Distorted voices, rumbling and murmured through the walls. Stray noises, bangs and slams and chaos happening somewhere nearby, or maybe far away. He’s got no sense of distance. He’s got no sense of space.

A dream. It feels like a lucid dream; he’s had those before. Woke up much like this, uncomfortable and slow. Body aching from the withdrawal, before he’s quick to fill himself back up again. He’s never sober; only less alive, or more. Less or more, never completely there.

Because being there _hurts_. Being there is a painful experience. Being there, having it all together is-

A loud banging, and someone is definitely shouting on the other side of the wall. What wall… A tile wall. The sound of dripping water, somewhere close. …A bathroom. But he wasn’t in a bathroom before. Or maybe he was. How did he get here, did he even walk this far. Did someone move him-

Having it all together is painful. Because he feels loss; he feels trauma. Hurt and loss and pain, hurt from the death of the child he loved more than anything, and the pain from a body that will never heal. Death doesn’t let you heal. Not when it hits so close to your heart. Not when it takes a piece of you with it.

There’s the sparks of pain that shiver through his arm every time he moves it, to remind him of the godawful moment when he wished he’d died instead.

Finally awake. Sitting up, now. Body hurts but it’s not like…

Looking around. Definitely a bathroom. A remarkably... dirty bathroom. Not disgusting dirty, but with actual dirt and evidence of damage. Looks like it’s been through a natural disaster. Ceiling cracked, walls with tiles falling off, dust collected along the corners of the walls. Mud on his shoes. His shoes. _These aren’t my shoes._ Are they…

No pain. A noticeable absence of pain.

Moves his arm. Bends it, back and forth. No pain.

And it takes a long, agonizingly slow moment to realize that it’s there.

It’s there. It’s…

Flesh. Skin. He touches it, with his opposite hand. An arm. Feels real. Touches it with a hand he doesn’t recognize. _These aren’t my gloves._ Or are they…

Dreaming; _I am definitely dreaming._

Looking around again, vision coming into focus when a loud BOOM rattles the walls. A tile falls with a startling, hollow shatter. Something’s going on outside. Best not to leave here. Best not to leave this place… Settle down. Stay calm. Dwell in the moment, and let it pass. This dream, like all the others, will end. This bizarre and confusing episode will be over. The high’ll kick back in, and he’ll quit having to think so rationally. So calm. Too calm. He hates being this calm-

“For fuck’s sake!”

A person. A man, but he can’t tell how old. Angry eyes and a face that’s dripping with blood, red running down one side of it, thick like paint. But he looks familiar. Looks like…

“Do you have a death wish, or what?”

A dark shirt. A tattered brown jacket. Black gloves, with a hand pressed against the open doorway. Black pants and black shoes, with dirt and blood—it has to be blood—on them.

Black hair. Dark eyes, and the faint remnant of a mask that was over them, most of it torn and ripped from off. A Domino mask, like what Dick wears. A mask like-

Red Hood?

This is interesting.

“Come on,” he’s being scolded. Right. Something’s happening. “We don’t have all day.”

Stand up. Watch the moment unfold. Process it slowly.

Drugs are still wearing off. Must be why he’s so slow. They must be…

Wearing off? They can’t wear off. They never wear off. Because there’s always something, someone around to make sure that-

Stand up. Get up, now.

That’s right. Follow him. Follow the man with the gun.

-

Gunfire. That’s the first thing he recognizes. He knows its sound. Its scent. Explosions in the air, bullets streaming into the walls as he runs with tunnel vision, ground unsteady, legs sore and clumsy as he follows the trail of the man in front of him. Follows those black boots, each dirt and blood-stained footstep as they rush through. Doesn't know to where. Who knows. Just don’t get hit. Don’t get-

“Damn,” he can swear he hears Jason say, his voice lost between shots. But it’s faint, too far away to clearly hear. Every foot between them matters. Every inch is communication, sound lost. It’s dangerous to fall back. Dangerous to fall behind.

So he doesn’t. It hurts and it stings, but he doesn’t. His body doesn’t want to move. But once the ground starts to feel more level and solid beneath his feet, it gets easier. Much easier.

And when Red Hood—or Jason, he should call him Jason—makes a sudden leap through an oversized hole in the wall where a window had been shot out, it doesn’t take much effort to leap and follow.

He can coordinate better, now. His muscles are feeling more alive. Sounds are more perfect on pitch. The whistle of a bullet flying past his ear. Terrifying because it barely misses; exciting because he notices its presence. Sharp awareness, of the crunching sound of the wooden floor beneath Jason’s shoes as he runs. The twitch of the trigger of his gun when he reaches for it, and pulls it out. The shout of a female—very close, suddenly—when Jason turns to acknowledge her. He doesn’t look threatened. Doesn’t seem like he is-

But there’s no time to pay attention, and find out. Because they’re backed into a corner.

“Alright, fellas,” Jason is saying under his breath when they come to a stop against that wall, each hand carrying a gun as he holds them high. “Come and get it.”

Neat and orderly. Sharp and perfect. That’s the way Jason fires. Each bullet with a purpose. Each shot hitting a target. He fires until he runs out of ammunition, bodies rushing to them and flying back, spray bullets ricocheting behind them, from when they miss. He rattles them. He rattles each and every one of them.

It must be the way he looks. The way he seems. Fearless. Bold. Confident enough to stand up tall and fire back as they rush forward, gang members that are already worse for the wear. Likely from pain he’s already been causing them. Likely from the spare scattering and bursts of energy, bright flashes of light sparking in from the room next door. The woman, whoever she is; she’s the one that’s causing it. Clearly. Jason’s grinning with delight.

There’s blood still drying on his face. It drips onto the floor. He shouldn’t notice; has no time to notice. No time to do anything except-

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself, when a bullet narrowly misses his leg. Arrows. No arrows. Gun. Need a-

Jason freezes still, body tense and threatened when Roy reaches towards his back pocket, at one of his holsters. “Give me that.” And Jason’s glancing back at him, looking back sharply like he’s wounded. But he lets him take it.

“That’s better,” because it feels good to hold a weapon. Feels right. So he takes another; the last one he can see in plain sight, from the other side of Jason’s back.

“Hey, don’t get-” but for once, he doesn’t finish his statement. For a moment in time, he pauses. Watches Roy unload a clip into a few thugs. Watches them fall back, with cries of pain. Cries of anguish. He’s hitting them where it hurts.

It’s music to his ears.

Roy’s a surprisingly good shot. When Jason gets back to firing, cursing inwardly for his moment of hesitation and delay, Roy’s been covering for him. Steady hands and strong arms, he doesn’t shoot to kill, but he comes damn close. Close enough to make him proud. Steady hands. Strong arms. A tall stance, as he gets his confidence and finds his focus. Strong legs, a tight body and the consistent and almost rhythmic fire as he hits nearly all of his targets.

Jason clears down the few he misses. No problem. He should take out more. Should do more damage than this. But looking at Roy, _damn_ -

When Jason takes out the last of them, and even teasingly shoots after a few more that are scrambling and running away, he doesn’t care to chase them. No need to take out every rodent that crosses his path.

Roy’s reloading one of the guns with ammo he swipes from Jason’s back pocket. Ignores the subsequent look from him.

Jason reaches out, open palms to Roy, “Can I get those back?”

Roy’s looking at the guns like they have sentimental value, but he knows better than to pick a fight with him. Not now. Maybe not ever. Jason isn’t just a pain in the ass to argue with. He’s dangerous.

As far as Roy knows, anyway. From what he’s heard. What little he’s seen.

And this, now. Jason taking his guns back with a sense of ownership, with a sense of purpose when he slides them back into their holsters. Eyes steady and serious, staring across the room with a sense of calm—and almost joy, at how well things went just now—despite the obvious blood drying on his face, and what appears to be a bullet hole bleeding out of his leg.

Roy happens to notice it. “Hey-”

But he’s cut off by the arrival of their third companion, a shining light that walks into the room with a smile on her face. She sighs a little, body tall and swaying slightly as she saunters towards them. Hair wild and beautiful, eyes wide and alert, boots taking light steps as she walks.

Kory. Starfire.

Roy would recognize her anywhere. But why…

_Why am I here with you?_

Either of them.

“Roy,” she greets him, all smiles and eyes sparkling when she arrives. “Good to see you,” and pulls him into a loose embrace. It’s now that he realizes how vibrant she looks, skin so smooth, features so soft. He hadn’t seen her looking like this; not for many years-

“Hey, Kory,” and it’s now that he realizes how different his voice sounds, how different his tone is, somehow lighter, quieter-

He clears his throat. Hopes that’ll fix it.

“Let’s get moving,” Jason interrupts. “I don’t have enough ammo to deal with our buddies if they bring reinforcements.”

“Where are we going,” Roy manages. His voice still isn’t right, but at least he can talk.

“Out there,” Jason points towards the wall, to some figurative destination on the other side.

“I don’t understand-” Roy’s trying, but-

“Relax, princess,” Jason even manages a slight grin. “We’ll have a nice chat.”

-

Conventional as it is, they find a small bed and breakfast off the side of the road. Humble and bare bones, but good and quiet. The sun’s down; thank God. Sleep would do some good.

Sleep would bring this dream to an end. Not that it hasn’t been fun, but-

They’re walking inside, and Roy’s following Kory— _goddamn_ but her body looks good—while Jason leads them to a small table in the far corner of what seems to be the dining room. It’s a sudden entrance—didn’t wait to be seated, even—but he’s got a sense of urgency. He’s acting calm, but he’s got a sense of tension about him.

When he sits down, Jason finally wipes some of the blood off his face, using a napkin off the table. He has to scrub at it, and the wound is still fresh enough to continue bleeding.

A waitress, a woman so nervous she’s shaking, comes to greet them. “Can I.. help you, sirs.. ma’am,” she stumbles.

Jason doesn’t miss a beat. “Lemonade.”

“What?”

“Lemonade,” with a sharp look at her.

“Right,” a small squeak, like a frightened mouse.

“Do you have… coffee,” Kory asks with a smile.

“Yes,” and the woman’s eyes grow wide, just for a moment, when she sees her. Roy gets it. Kory is.. quite a sight on the eyes. Beautiful and supernatural-

“Water,” he manages.

And when the waitress mumbles an, “Okay then,” and rushes away from them, Roy’s turning his attention back to Jason.

“What was that all about?”

Jason pauses; thinking, as he dabs at his face one more time, and sets the napkin down. Peels the remainder of his mask off from over his eyes. Tosses it onto the table.

“Well?” Roy frowns at him.

“What, the thugs,” Jason shrugs. “Don’t worry about them. That was just a misunderstanding.”

“They believed he was there to arrest him,” Kory informs.

“No, no,” Jason waves that off, “To exterminate them.”

“Of course,” Roy remarks, with intentional cynicism.

“I was unlucky enough to wake up in their warehouse.”

“We all were,” Kory somberly remarks. She crosses her hands together on the table. “If I remember correctly, I was-”

The mouse of a waitress appears at their table, setting down the drinks as quickly as possible. She’s less afraid, but clearly rattled. Stressed. Her hands are unsteady and she refuses to make eye contact with Jason, even as he stares at her with obvious curiosity. He’s making her nervous, but Roy can’t tell if it’s intentional. Can’t tell if he’s trying to screw with her. Too hard to tell.

Dick was right. Jason was… Unpredictable. Confusing.

Interesting.

“I was the first,” Kory finishes her statement, with a friendly smile to the waitress as she leaves. “And then… Jason, after. I found him in the storage room.”

“Cool,” Roy remarks, taking a sip from his drink. He shakes his head. “Man. I’m gonna definitely remember this one.”

Jason’s staring at him, with those critical eyes. Gloves torn and bleeding as he raises his glass to his lips and murmurs quietly, “Remember what.”

“This dream,” Roy responds. Takes another sip.

“What dream.”

Roy pauses. “This one.”

Jason falls silent. Stares at him. Those eyes, almost angry. A dark blue. Blue, but different from the kind and bright eyes of Dick Grayson. Different from the serious and cold eyes of Bruce Wayne. There’s a spark in them. An almost malicious spark.

When he speaks, there’s a bite in his words. “Bad news, Roy. You’re awake.”

-

Pain. He could feel pain. When Jason slapped him on the face—slapped him hard—he felt the sting. When Jason stared at him, and said to his face, _You are awake_ , for the fourth time, he heard it with a surprising clarity. He noticed the fine details of his face. Heard the strong tones of his voice. Heard the rough syllables and noticed the blood drying below his eye, where he got hit. Who knows what he was hit with; something sharp, by someone that was angry.

Pain. He could feel pain. He felt awake. He felt conscious. He felt aware.

And when Kory placed her soft hand over his, he felt the gentleness of her touch.

Jason said that he didn’t know what happened. But he and Kory woke up slightly different. Younger. Stronger, somehow. Different clothes than when they fell asleep the night before. In a different place. Having never known each other before, suddenly dropped into a moment of crisis, a surprise confrontation with some confused gangsters when Roy woke up to the shootout happening on the other side of the wall.

Jason said that they needed to keep moving. Needed to get a hold of some valuable information, to figure out what the hell was going on.

Roy understood that. He got it. But even so…

“My daughter.” That’s his first thought.

Kory looks at him, with somewhat anxious eyes.

Jason remains calm. Says nothing.

Does nothing, as Roy freezes, a strange chill passing through his body. “My daughter…” A chill that runs from his feet to his hands. A sudden pressure behind his eyes.

Lisa. Lauren. Leslie…

“My daughter,” his voice is cracking.

He sees her face in his mind. Knows her face. Knows how she is, how she acts, how she sounds when she laughs. The look on her face when he comes home.

Laura… Leeza… Diane…

_Lian._

“Lian,” his pulse starts to rush. The sudden fear in his body easing away, the sudden terror in that moment when he felt so stupid, so dumb, so absurd. _How could I forget my own child?_ Must be the drugs, must have fucked with his brain more than he realized.

Kory’s expression starts to fall; her eyes down to the table.

“I’m not going anywhere until I talk to my daughter.”

“Try to find her,” Jason says.

“Shut up,” Roy sneers back. He doesn’t like his tone. Doesn’t like the way he said that.

“Call home,” Jason suggests. “Call your loved ones. Ask for her.”

Roy’s standing up, looking around when he notices a phone on the front desk.

“She’s not there,” Jason’s saying, as Roy turns his back on him.

Roy doesn’t listen. Doesn’t have time to listen.

Asks the woman at the desk if he can borrow the phone. She nods politely, “Sure,” and he lifts it and dials. Thinks to call Dinah. She’d know. But where would she be…

Dials Ollie’s place. Hopes she’s there. Because he can’t remember her home number.

“Hey, I'm looking for Dinah,” he asks the moment he hears static on the other end. The familiar fumbling of someone holding the receiver.

But the answer he gets is less reassuring. “-uh, this is Ollie.” He doesn’t sound entirely awake. That’s okay.

“Hey, it’s Roy.”

“Roy? Hi.”

An awkward silence.

“Is Dinah there?”

Awkward silence. “Dinah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you looking for Dinah?”

“Is she there or not?”

“Roy,” he could finally hear more of Ollie’s usual tone, the familiar Ollie, with some humor. “The hell are you on about?”

“The hell you asking me?” Roy’s smirking back.

“Dinah? Black Canary? Or d’you mean someone else?”

“Yeah, of course-”

“Why would she be at my house?”

“Ollie-”

“I mean, I know who she is, but…”

Roy pauses. Frowns to himself. Takes a glance back at the table. Jason, staring quietly back at him, looking on with a discouraging sense of calm.

Roy sighs to himself.

“Can you put Lian on the line.”

“Lee.. Ann?”

“Lian, Ollie. Come on. Put Lian on.”

“Who’s Lee Ann?”

“You’re drunk,” Roy says.

“Roy, I-”

“You’re drunk,” but he’s already slamming down the phone. Slams it back into its receiver. Stares at it for a moment.

Hears Jason’s voice again, quiet and faint. “She doesn’t exist.”

When Roy returns to the table, he stands above him. Stance tall and upright, legs straight, shoulders forward as he leans over and asks, voice rough and low, like he’s used to it sounding. “How the hell would you know that?”

Jason… smirks at him. The bastard. He smirks at him, and says, “I can tell by looking at you.”

Roy looks at Kory. She establishes eye contact, but her eyes are glossy and shining. “Kory?” Roy asks, his voice weak. He wants to hear from her. Needs to hear from someone that’s not Jason. Needs to hear from someone with good intention. Someone with good heart.

“You look… different,” Kory says, her bottom lip trembling. “You look…” but she can’t say it.

When Roy looks at Jason again, his words are direct. Cold, but necessary. “Take a look in the glass,” as he points to the far wall. A wall of windows, where the reflection is especially strong.

Roy doesn’t say a word. He’s too concerned to say anything. Too afraid. Afraid of many things. Afraid of being a monster. Afraid of being someone else. Afraid of being different somehow.

Somehow that’s critical. Somehow where Lian isn’t around. And Ollie doesn’t know Dinah as his girlfriend. As his wife.

He hears Jason’s voice speaking after him, not calling rudely; talking quietly. Discreet. “It’s a topsy-turvy world…”

Roy sees himself in the glass. Tall, strong. Stance solid, posture straight. His uniform, red and… some different straps. The details are different. He doesn’t recognize the gloves. Doesn’t recognize the chestpiece. The belt. His gear is missing. He’s known that. His face is the same shape. His hair is the same color. Longer, but otherwise…

He leans in closer. His features are… He seems…

“One man can rise from his own grave. Another can travel back in time.”

-

Roy’s shaking. Didn’t want to eat. Couldn’t. Can’t stop shaking.

“I’m…”

“Younger,” Jason finishes the statement, as he sits down on the edge of the bed, and finally—for the first time since he’d been hit—takes a close look at the bleeding wound in his leg. He’s eyeing it critically, as Kory rushes to Roy’s side.

Places a hand on his shoulder, a gentle hand as he can’t tear his eyes from the floor. He sits on the bed mournfully. Somber and still, in the quiet room they booked for the night. They needed energy to make a move tomorrow, Jason said. He was right. They all knew that.

Roy didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep. Didn’t think so. Too many thoughts. Too much thinking. Doubting. Too many concerns.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “I don’t understand how this happened.”

“Join the club,” Jason murmurs, as he slides up his pant leg. Kory looks on, eyes growing wide at the sight of the wound. Blood spills out when he moves, covers his hand in dark red, heavy and thick when he presses at it. Kory stays with Roy, but she keeps a careful eye on Jason when he reaches around, somewhere in his gear and pulls out a few small vials, and sets them on the bed one by one. First the gauze, he wets it with one of them and gets to work.

Jason works slowly, methodically. Cautiously exact. He remains still for an extended while, still and coordinated as he goes through each vial, applying each one, cringing when a few make contact. Cringing from pain, but not surprise. He expects every sensation he feels. Knows what’ll happen.

He sits there until after Kory leaves to the bathroom, to clean up for bed.

Unsteady. Roy’s unsteady. But for the first time in a while, completely aware. Painfully aware. He feels more awake, more alive than he’s felt in days. Possibly weeks.

More alive than…

And something occurs to him.

 _Lian_. Dear God, why was he even asking for her in the first place?

“Lian is dead,” he says.

Jason looks up at him. Continues to wind a bandage around his leg, but keeps a cautious eye on him. “She was,” he says.

“She died. He killed her. Prometheus.”

“And you lost your arm, right,” he pauses. “Hey.”

“What.”

“Come here,” as he extends a hand out, to wave him over. When Roy makes his way over, Jason straightens out his leg. “Come tighten this for me.”

“Red Hood, asking for help,” Roy snickers at him.

“Don’t patronize me,” Jason snaps back. “It’d just be a convenience.”

“Sure,” Roy says, shrugging it off.

For the next minute, as he wraps the bandage around his leg, it’s nice to focus on something else. Nice to ignore the fact that he completely forgot his daughter’s name, and then forgot that she was dead. But none of that compares to the fact that Ollie didn’t know Dinah as his love, and didn’t know who Lian even was. None of that compares to the fact that he’s somehow moved back in time, his life has moved back in time.

He focuses on the bandage, winds it tight, a few passes around. Snatches a clip from the bed, and slides it on, to pin it closed. Checks it over, tracing a hand over his leg to make sure it's smooth and taut.

There’s something intimate about it. Something personal. The contact is warm and the scent of blood is in the air.

He looks at Jason; glances directly at him. And he’s…

Roy wouldn’t say he was relaxed. Wouldn’t say he was at peace. But he’s calm. Less focused. The sharp look in his eyes is fading.

He’s being studied. But why…

“I’ve gotta hand it to you,” Jason’s saying, as Roy lifts his hands away. “You’re a decent man, Roy.”

Roy frowns at him. “What are you getting at.”

“I’m saying you’re decent.”

“How would you know,” as Roy sits back down. Closer, this time. But it’s not intentional. Just how the scene unfolds. Just how it happens.

And when Jason slides a hand over, and nudges against his thigh, Roy doesn’t respond. Not immediately. Jason lets that hand linger, a consistent pressure as Roy watches it. His eyes shifting between those fingers, still with remnants of dried blood on them, and his face, as he stares straight back.

“I don’t trust you,” Roy finally says.

“You don’t have to,” with a slight smirk.

The bathroom door opens. Kory. Jason doesn’t withdraw his hand. Roy glances at him sharply. Concern in his face. For that brief moment, while Kory approaches them.

Roy slides back, reclining onto the bed.

Exhaustion. A sudden exhaustion overtakes him. Weight on his shoulders. The weight of the world. He runs his hands over his face. Smooth skin. Notices a scar that should be near his eyebrow, that’s missing. Traces over where it should be.

Nothing is as it should be.

The dream is not ending. He’s not waking up. Jason was right.

He’s already awake.

-

Kory’s asleep. Blissful. Quiet. Her silhouette still and framed by moonlight filtering in through the curtains. She’s majestic. Her beauty is majestic.

Roy understands it. He’s never felt it, but he understands. He knows why Dick loved her. No matter how he resented it. No matter how it hurt him-

Jason’s still awake. Roy doesn’t like their proximity to each other, but they gave Kory one of the two beds. It was the respectful thing to do. So Roy is awake, and Jason is awake, and they are roughly one foot apart.

At least Jason’s finally clean. A shower, to wash the blood off. It’s strange, to see him clean. Skin smooth, face relatively free of scars. His features are remarkably at peace when he closes his eyes. But you can’t look; not for too long. If you stare for too long, he’ll notice and look back.

Clean and free of blood, hair brushed back when he winds a hand through it. It’s not impossible to mistake him for Dick Grayson. But Roy would pity anyone who does.

“Hey,” Jason says.

“What,” Roy answers back. Turns towards him.

“Can’t sleep, can you,” he says.

“Neither can you, apparently.”

“Mh,” Jason gives a small sound. He’s thinking. He’s staring again. It makes Roy nervous. But what he says is unconventional. Unexpected. “You know your way around guns, don’t you.”

“You could say that,” Roy responds. He has to break eye contact. It’s unsettling him. “They have their uses.”

“I bet Dick doesn’t like that policy.”

Roy smirks. He can’t help it. “Dick doesn’t like a lot of what I do.”

“Have you ever killed someone,” Jason says.

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you do.”

“I…” Roy pauses. Wishes he could lie. But he can’t. “A few times.” That’s all he wants to admit.

“Do you hate it.”

“I should.”

“But sometimes you don’t, do you.”

“At least once or twice. I didn’t.”

Silence.

That was likely a test. Roy is sure he’s failed. Jason’s evaluating him. He wants him to be all or nothing. To be a hero he can toy with. Or a villain he can admire. He saw him shooting. He must’ve got the wrong idea.

Well, now he has the right one. And in this new silence, Roy can try to get some sleep.

But Jason’s not done. Far from it.

Because he likes what he’s just heard. He likes a subject he doesn’t completely understand. Likes a man that’ll go to the edge and cross it. Likes a man that’ll cross it, and skip the guilt part. Likes a man that can cross it and remain uncertain. That can remain ambivalent. Thoughtful.

The gray area between right and wrong. He likes a man that can explore that. Likes a woman or a man, really. But likes it in a man, most of all.

Jason knows what he’s doing, when he places a hand on Roy’s shoulder. Knows what he’s doing when he slides it to his chest. Knows what to expect. The startling halt, and subsequent jump in Roy’s breathing. The rush of warmth to Roy’s skin. The feel of his heartbeat, furious and fast. And the silent murmur, the questioning, “Hey,” which he chooses to ignore. For now.

Keeps moving. Traces along his collarbone. One of the few scars that survived his body’s trip through time. Traces over it, lingers intentionally. Raises himself up. Moves closer. Lets his hand communicate, moving towards his neck. Moves it slowly. Cautious and slow, so he doesn’t feel threatened.

“What are you doing,” Roy growls at him. Low and quiet.

“Communicating my interest,” Jason trails his hand down once again, across his chest.

“What do you want,” but his voice is fragile. Doubt. Uncertainty.

The response, murmured only inches away from his face. “Let’s ease some of your stress.”

Roy closes his eyes. Chooses not to fight. Because the fight or flight instinct can’t decide. Tempted. He knows it’s unwise. He knows it’s a mistake. Knows it’s-

Lips against his, a kiss that’s sudden, heavy and pressing firm. A hot, aggressive gasp into his mouth as he lets it sink deeper. A hand pressing deep into his neck, while the other digs into the mattress, sinks in only inches away from his face. A body that gradually lowers above him, heat trapped between them, heat and sweat and flesh. The rough texture of the bandages on Jason’s leg brushing against his thigh. The remarkably smooth texture of his skin.

Jason crawls over him, pressing himself down slowly, like Roy’s body belongs to him.

And for right now, maybe it does.

-

Jason doesn’t know why he was prepared. Doesn’t know why he came to in a noisy warehouse, one room away from an alien princess and another away from a jaded superhero. Doesn’t know why Fate rearranged the cards, and placed him alongside two of his brother’s exes.

Roy still has feelings for Dick. He knows that. He knows that’s, arguably, why he’s able to do this now. Because Roy looks at Jason and sees something familiar. Something painfully familiar. The very thing that Jason hates about himself; that similarity in appearance would be what Roy finds comforting. Reassuring.

Jason doesn’t know why he was prepared. Doesn’t know why he woke up with all of his gear, guns loaded and ready. Doesn’t know why Roy was so defenseless. Doesn’t know where his weapons went. Doesn’t know why Roy needed to rely on him, and why he needed to help Roy. It wasn’t even a question of obligation. It was a question of want. A primal, urgent _want_ to save him from misfortune.

The rush when he saw him firing his guns. The speeding of his heart when he first laid eyes on him, once he woke up on the bathroom floor. Something familiar, something comforting, something reassuring. Maybe it’s all a bit more supernatural than he’s giving it credit for. Maybe he’s looking at this the wrong way.

And maybe the reason why he was prepared, why he was loaded up with guns, ammunition, a sense of attachment to Roy and the necessary things he would need to fuck him, is for an entirely different reason. Maybe the reason that he was carrying condoms, and lubricant, and extra guns has nothing to do with a misplaced sense of purpose, or Dick, or anyone else. Maybe it’s entirely to do with Roy.

Maybe the reason why he’s fucking him now—why it feels so _damn_ good to fuck him right now—is because he’s supposed to. Maybe, in this new reality, he’s the lover Dick was supposed to be. And maybe, possibly…

He feels familiar. Smells familiar. The scent of his sweat, familiar, like he’s known it before. The way it feels to be inside him, the way his body tenses, the sounds he makes, even while he suppresses them. Jason has the lingering impression, the familiar knowledge that Roy always does. That he doesn’t like to make noise. And he doesn’t mind pain. He doesn’t mind fucking until he’s too raw and sore to move. He likes kissing. Messy and wet and deep kisses that almost suffocate him. Likes being touched. Hates being touched over his scars, what few there are. Likes to stare at his face and kiss him beneath his eyes and whispers _love you_ before he falls asleep each night.

It terrifies him. It terrifies Jason.

“Are you my lover, Roy.”

Roy doesn’t say anything. Not at first.

Because Roy remembers how this feels.

Roy remembers how it feels to look at Jason before he falls asleep, the way his entire face falls still. The warmth of him in his bed, the weight of his arm over his waist when he lets it linger there. The hand that runs through his hair, those rare and beautiful moments of expressing affection, genuine affection, between the heated arguments and the aggressive sex. Desperate sex, the kind that makes you feel like you’re gonna die.

Jason’s the only man to top him. Roy knows that, somehow. He tops him, and he does it hard. He likes to inflict some amount of pain. Likes to toy with him. Possessive habits. Rude habits. Habits that turn him on.

Roy knew what it feels like, knew what to expect in the instant before Jason slid his cock inside him. Knew how his size felt, how _he_ felt when he began to thrust. Knew how assertive he was, how rhythmic, with a rate that steadily increased.

He knows the sounds Jason makes, even though he believes he’s silent. The quiet sighs and pants of exhaustion as he continues to fuck him for hours, late into the night.

So when Jason asks, _Are you my lover-_

Roy gives it a moment of thought.

And the sudden rush of his heart compels him to say, “Yes.”

-

Blood seeping through Jason’s bandage. It stings. Not enough to stop.

Fingertips pressing firm against Roy’s back, while the opposite hand digs into his waist, resting just above his right hip to keep him still. Traces over the prominent bone there, feels and remembers the curve of his abdomen. How tight his body is, how sculpted, how firm.

He wants to believe that Roy is more attractive than he’s ever been; but an irritating, nagging thought chases that one down, a thought that says, _Roy has always been attractive,_ and another, _Roy will always be attractive._ He can’t stand it. Doesn’t know where it comes from.

Takes out his aggression by thrusting harder, hard enough to draw a gasp from him, a pained murmur against the bedsheets. Incoherent and passionate, the way Roy gets when he’s aroused, when he’s getting close- Thrusts in hard, deep as he can, abuses his prostate with a series of thrusts, faster now, deeper. Roy’s close so he’s going to push him over the edge.

Roy starts to touch himself. Has to fight to keep himself steady, bows his head and almost seems defeated as Jason continues to fuck him down into the bedsheets. Leans in, close enough to see the drops of sweat on the back of Roy’s neck; his hot skin, the familiar and primal taste when he licks it. Licks and kisses, kisses and bites because he knows Roy likes that, can hear him suppressing a moan when he starts to chew at the flesh, lets his teeth pierce in and draw blood.

Continues to abuse the fresh wound, tongue exploring, teeth chewing to make it worse as he continues to thrust, hears the rising of broken gasps and pants from Roy as he jacks himself off furiously, desperately. Sweat and blood dripping down the back of his neck, dripping between his shoulders as he continues to feast on him, to devour him, to fuck him, to claim him. _Mine_ , and for a moment he forgets about his jealousy over Roy’s former love affair with Dick, forgets about the confusion of the past blurring with the present and a time when he didn’t know this man beyond just his name.

 _Mine_ , he’s close, so close now and he licks in coarse strokes across Roy’s neck, tastes that blood, feels that it belongs to him, like all of this belongs to him, has always belonged to him, since the day they met in that bar in Gotham, when it was just past midnight-

When they had sex for the first time, and Roy was half-drunk and beautiful and lustful and impulsive. Before they knew each other, before Jason realized that Roy was his brother’s ex and before Roy realized that he was attracted to Jason because he looked like Dick, and-

Thinking back to a time when Roy confessed that he’d only ever slept with Jason because he looked like Dick, because he was a fool and drank too much, that night when they fought and parted ways in Central City, outside of Roy’s apartment. When Jason swore he’d never come around again, that Roy can go fuck himself, that Roy needs to grow up and call him when he feels like dropping his obsession with the Wonder boy.

When Roy found him, that one night on the Gotham rooftops. Said he was sorry, and listed all of the things, the unique things that he’d noticed, that he appreciated, that he valued about him. When he said that Jason was not Dick, would never be Dick, and how damn good of a thing that was, because Dick broke his heart and Jason was the only decent man that would treat him like a lover.

“What is this _love_ shit,” Jason had said. He didn’t mean it, but he said it, “I don’t love you.”

But that night ended in sex. And passionate kisses and embraces and Roy saying, for the first time, _I love you_ before he fell asleep. “You don’t have to return my feelings, but I love you.”

“Fuck,” Jason is cursing to himself when he comes. Roy already came; spilled himself on the bed, and Jason follows suit, coming hard with a tension, a rush of feelings and nostalgia and moments in time and memories, sudden and strong and overwhelming like someone hit a switch inside his brain. He pants himself through an orgasm and kisses Roy’s back, as he feels his body relax.

“I love you,” he says.

Mystifying, chaotic, confusing as it is.

“I love you,” for emphasis.

Roy’s laughing back at him, quietly, voice rough. “I know.”

-

Jason’s kissing his body, trailing kisses across his chest as Roy falls asleep. Doesn’t understand why. Has given up on the pursuit.

One man can rise from his own grave. A miracle in itself. But somewhere in this timeline, in this new reality, he’d given his heart away. Another miracle.

Roy never had a daughter. Oliver Queen didn’t fall in love with Dinah Lance. Roy likely never dated Cheshire. Roy dated Dick, instead. Loved him. Obsessed over him. Had his heart broken, and Jason picked up the pieces.

When they met as strangers, unknowing of how their paths had crossed, in that bar in Gotham, when Roy was reeling from a minor relapse and the breakup with Dick. Stress relief, and a primal, animalistic lust that became something more.

The lust that Jason had always felt for Roy. The awareness that Roy was his kind of man. Roy was strong. Handsome. Capable. Rough and persistent and tough. When Roy laughed at him over what could’ve been the fourth round of beers, saying that _hell yeah_ , of course he’d used a gun and that he wished he could do it more often. When Roy flirted with him, saying he’d like to pull the trigger.

Dubious intent. Misleading purpose. Lust and passion and history and…

Love.

Mystifying as it is. Terrifying as it is. Startling, with the sudden awareness that, if they wake up tomorrow and everything is exactly as it was… If Roy is Dick’s friend, his friend that fell from grace and lost his arm and lost his daughter and never knew him, never cared at all for him, then-

Jason pauses. Presses his face into the pillow besides Roy’s sleeping face. Lets it soak up his tears.

Because in this story, Jason’s not a lone wolf. Jason doesn’t wake up and go to sleep every night alone. Doesn’t spend his days and nights stalking the bats in Gotham, obsessing over a city that’s given him nothing and taken everything in return.

Doesn’t have to live with the fact that he’s never known what love is, will never know what love is, and will never care for or appreciate it.

In this story, right now, Jason wakes up and goes to bed with his lover. Spends the days in Central City and Star City and Gotham and Metropolis and wherever else life takes them. Sometimes they part ways. Make phone calls. Spend the days apart and reunite when it’s convenient. They refuse to talk about the future, because it’s always uncertain. But Roy knows Jason is dangerous and Jason knows Roy is trying to do the right and just thing in life and sometimes it breaks them up until they put themselves back together.

But Roy is his lover. Roy is someone he cares for. Takes care of. Keeps an eye on, in between everything and anything else. Carries an extra set of guns for whenever Roy needs them. Keeps them in the same place on his body, so Roy can quickly get to them. Keeps them adjusted to the exact settings he likes to work with, the same gun models and ammunition each time.

A shootout. Gunfire coming at them from all sides. In a moment of frenzy, Roy says, “Give me that,” and it was definitely not the first time. “Much better,” because Jason had made certain they would work perfectly, exactly as Roy needed them.

Jason was prepared, from the moment he woke up. He was prepared to find Roy, to save him, to get him out of harm’s way. Was prepared to wake him up, to bring him back here and fuck him, to love him, to remind them both of what they were to each other.

He runs a hand over his face, annoyed. Frustrated.

But he’s really just afraid. Terrified.

_You’re not allowed to go anywhere._

But that’s Fate’s decision to make.

-

Morning.

Kory is sitting at the small table in front of the window, brushing her hair. Long and luxurious, it shimmers in the sunlight. Her skin, too, is golden and shining, nude as she is, nude and at ease about it.

Jason sits up. Feels the hurt and aches in his body, but ignores it as usual. Pulls back the sheets, far enough to see his leg. Looks bad. Definitely bled through. Red spots and lines on the sheets. They’ll wash out. Not that he cares, if they don’t.

Glancing around the room. Silence. No movement, save for Kory in the corner of the room.

Stands up, out of bed. He’s naked but he doesn’t care. It’s not like Kory cares. Although she does give him an amused glance before turning her attention back to her hair. Silence, only the sound of her brush strokes in the room as Jason walks around, steps toward the bathroom.

Silence, on the other side of the door. Silence. He feels an emptiness.

A profound, chilling emptiness when he presses against it, opening it with a mournful creaking sound. A silent, mournful-

“Morning,” Roy’s glancing at him from the corner of his eye, before turning his attention back to the shoe in his hand. A heavy boot, covered in splatters and splashes of dirt and blood and God knows what else. He’s wiping it off slowly, cautiously, with a slightly damp towel. Doesn’t want to damage the leather. Needs to get them clean, though. Wants to.

Roy doesn’t like his clothing to stay dirty. Jason remembers that.

“We need to get moving. Soon,” Jason says, before turning away. Would do no good to get emotional. Don’t show him that you’re overwhelmed. Don’t show him that you were afraid. Don’t-

An arm around his waist, a hand pressing against his stomach as Roy tugs him closer.

“What’s with you,” he says. Towel now on the counter, as he sets the boot onto the floor. Stands up, to face him.

Roy, tall and firm in stance. Shoulders back, legs strong. Chest defined. Arms intent and warm when he slides them around his back.

“You okay.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jason says. “I’m tired. I slept like Hell.”

“Mm,” Roy nods at him.

Jason’s turning away-

Roy kisses him. Sudden and strong on the mouth, the kind of kiss that communicates words he can’t say. Words he feels but can’t articulate. Emotions. Feelings. He kisses him on the mouth and then the face, letting it linger as he presses their faces together, keeps them close. Jason feels his breathing, shallow and slow against his skin.

“So it happened to you too, huh,” Jason murmurs.

Roy sighs. Slides his hands up his back, to rest behind his shoulders.

“I don’t know how to react,” Roy says.

“Just go with it.”

-

“I’ll be back,” Jason’s saying as he steps out the door. Kory watches him with curious eyes. Roy’s looking on with a mild curiosity, but his mind is elsewhere. His mind is far away.

Kory’s still sitting at the table, and she flips her hair back and gazes out the window as Roy gets dressed. He makes idle sounds as he does, contemplative sighs and the like as he fidgets with his clothes and pulls up the bedsheets to fix the bed.

Kory’s looking at him cautiously, intently with patient eyes when he notices and looks back. Slides on a shirt and comes over to her, taking a seat in front of her at the table.

When he sits he does so with a sigh, but chooses not to explain it.

“Are you well,” Kory asks quietly.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “Somewhere between well and horrible.”

Kory smiles somberly, lips thin, “We’re in a difficult position, now. I believe… Jason is still uncertain, about where we are.”

Roy doesn’t sigh, but he exhales deeply. Tries to work some of the stress out of his body by clasping his hands together on the table. Stares down at them, but it does no good. Has no use.

“You don’t know what he is to you,” she asks.

“No, I...” but he has to stop. “I think I do. It’s… strange.”

She places a hand over his. It surprises him, but he knows her good intention. Trusts it.

“If you’d asked me a day ago, I would’ve said I knew… only a few things about Jason. Two things. That he was the Red Hood, a very _bad_ and naughty boy,” he smirks to himself, “and to stay away from him.” He pauses. Somber. Quiet. “Dick told me to stay away from him.”

“But that was from another life,” Kory reassures him.

“I know, I just…” he sighs out loud, now. Exasperated. Frustrated. Tired. “I feel like I don’t know anything, now.”

Kory widens her eyes, and blinks at him with some surprise. “You know more than you ever have, don’t you?”

“What?”

“You know more about… Jason,” she separates his hands from each other, choosing to hold one of them. Holds gently and with kind, endearing affection, “than you ever have. You know the man behind the mask.”

“And Dick… doesn’t.”

Kory’s lips part, but it takes a moment before the words come out. “If that is what your heart tells you… It must be true.”

“I don’t know anything about myself,” Roy tells her.

“That can’t be true,” she teases. Squeezes his hand. “The question is… whether you want to accept it. Whether or not you… would like to continue where you are, or to attempt to recreate what you knew before.”

“What would you do.”

“What would I do?” with some confusion.

“I could choose to continue where I am, or to fight my way back. To force things to get back to how they were, as much as I could. To say that… Fate moved me off-track, something bizarre happened and I can fight to get back to where I should be. Make sure I’m in the League. Get Ollie and Dinah back on track. Find Cheshire, maybe even marry her, and have my daughter. Try to rebuild what I lost.”

“With less suffering, I hope,” Kory smiles at him.

“Absolutely. Much less. No drugs.”

“Will you have that choice, if you walk the same path?”

“I’m sorry?”

A moment of silence. Thought. Thinking. Roy’s worried he’s offended her—didn’t mean to—but she’s addressing his concern seriously. She’s addressing his confusion in the best way she knows how. With logic. Optimism. But through and through, reason.

“When I first woke up…” she finally pulls her hand back, and withdraws into herself, closed in like she’s in deep thought. “My mind was filled with… memories of being imprisoned. Images, feelings of… my people being tortured and killed.”

“Kory, I’m sorry-”

“I fail to know why… I needed to experience them. I fail to understand why this has happened. But I believe everything happens for a reason.” A gentle smile. “There’s a lesson for me, a purpose that I must find, in all of this. Time will reveal that to me.”

Roy wants to say something, but the words don’t come. So he listens. Waits.

“Fate has… For whatever reason, we don’t know it, Fate has given you another chance. A chance at a new life. Possibly… maybe… the way it was intended to be. The way it should have been. Roy,” she touches his shoulder, smoothing at the edge of his collar, her fingers brushing against his neck, “I _know_ you must find this very difficult, it must be difficult to live without your daughter. But imagine… you have a chance, a genuine chance now, to live without any guilt for her death.”

Roy feels his throat tighten. A stinging behind his eyes.

“You have a chance, now, to live without regret. Because you have done her no wrong.”

“I still remember her dying, Kory-”

“But you, _this_ you… You didn't cause it, in any way. Not the man you are now.” She blinks quickly, to quell tears before they can fall. “That is not a part of your history.”

“But Kory, she’s my-”

“I _know_ you loved her. I know that in my heart. …But Fate will bring you another child. Perhaps another daughter, or even a son. If you wish for it, Fate will bring you a family again.”

“I don’t know if I could deal with it,” his words frail and unsteady.

“Then… as they say… You can cross that bridge when it arrives.”

“When you get to it,” he grins at her.

Silence. Better, now. She’s smiling at him, and he’s grinning back, even as the expression slowly falls off his face. When it does, she’s still looking at him kindly. Compassionately.

“You’re uncertain… of how to feel about Jason,” she says.

“Absolutely.”

Another smile. This one more amused than the last. “If he is your…”

“Apparently, I’m his girlfriend.”

Kory laughs.

Roy sighs, half from humor and half from irritation.

“This is the new life you have been given,” Kory says. “A new chance at love.”

“Is that what it is,” Roy smirks, more to himself than her. “Feels like we’ve had a rocky history.”

“That may be the truth. But in your previous life, you failed to achieve it. You and Jason, both…”

Roy’s sighing to himself, with a strange weight in his chest.

“You failed to achieve love, what you feel now…”

“I had Donna…”

“And she was taken away.”

“Yeah,” Roy’s frowning to himself. Frowning, before he has to wipe at one of his eyes. Just in the corner. “Yeah, they killed her. And God knows what else.”

“You fell apart from each other.”

“Yeah, same as me and fucking… everyone else, we… We never really had it.”

“Cheshire…”

“Let’s not mention her,” Roy laughs, but it’s cold. Hollow. “I don’t wanna talk about her.”

“Forgive me. I am hurting you,” with a soft voice.

“No. No, it’s…” he feels the flush of his face, feels the warmth beneath his eyes, and the tightness of his throat. “It’s necessary.” He nods, “It’s important.”

“Roy…”

Thinking, thinking…

“We’ve apparently broken up a few times,” he laughs quietly, “But we get it together. We get together, and we’re stronger, and we’re closer, and I think you’re telling me that this might be Fate’s way, some silly and really confusing way of keeping us close.”

Kory starts to nod, with a hesitant smile.

“That he needs someone, I mean, I _know_ he needs someone, he’s always needed someone-” he slows himself down, “And I need someone that… that won’t…” He closes his eyes. Because otherwise, otherwise he might… “I need someone that won’t just… get up and find someone else.”

“Someone that loves you.”

Roy sighs, for the last time. He nods, and cringes inwardly from shame, because he’s crying in front of Kory, and he hates to do that in front of anyone, especially a girl-

“Someone that loves you, for everything you are,” Kory says, “And that has the patience to forgive you, and himself for the mistakes you’ve both made.”

The door opens. Creaks its way open. But Roy didn’t hear the handle turn. Feels certain it was opening before, and that it’s a matter of politeness. Jason realized he’d entered something personal, and didn’t want to interrupt. Didn’t want to make noise until it was appropriate.

He strolls in, pushing the door shut behind him as he steps forward, and tosses a small satchel, and a large bow onto the bed. Roy’s arrows. His bow. It’s unfamiliar, but it’s familiar, too. Reality is blurring with the past, but he knows it belongs to him.

The same way he knows that Jason does.

“Hi,” Jason’s looking back at him, with a slight smirk on his face, “Did I ruin your moment.”

Roy’s grinning back.

“What,” Jason frowns at him.

Roy shrugs, “Do you consider yourself a paragon of forgiveness?”

Jason laughs. Loudly. Rudely. “No.”

“Then why forgive me.”

“What… am I forgiving you for,” he asks slowly.

“Choosing Dick Grayson.”

Jason shrugs, to hide his hurt above anything else. He speaks cool and calm, “Well, everyone does that anyway-”

“And forgetting you.”

Jason stares at him. Blankly. Doubt. Confusion. Anger, seeping in. But where would it go, where…

“I forgot you, didn’t I.”

“Roy…”

“I forgot what you meant to me.”

Silence. Sadness in the room. Jason’s shaking, slight but noticeable, when he sits down on the bed.

“What are you getting at,” he manages.

“That’s why we woke up together, isn’t it. That’s why we were there,” as he points out the window, towards the warehouse. “That’s why we were there, when _this_ happened. That’s where our history came from.”

Jason frowns at him.

“That’s why… I have this history of dating you, of being with you. I don’t even know if it happened. Maybe it didn’t happen at all. Maybe we just… feel this way now, we remember this now, because we’re supposed to.”

“Roy, come on...”

“Maybe we feel this way now, because we were supposed to be together. Because I met and fell for the wrong boy in your family.”

Jason closes his eyes. Something in that statement wounds him.

“Because you weren’t supposed to die.”

His eyes open.

“You were supposed to meet me. You were supposed to know me. But someone got it wrong, and I was in the wrong generation, trying to hook up with the wrong guy and _of course_ that went to Hell because he wasn’t the one for me, right?"

Jason sighs. Complete silence, but his face shows it all. Tension. Regret. Rare emotions on the surface.

“Babe,” Roy shrugs it off, but his expression is tense and heavy. “You’re right. Everyone wants Dick Grayson. But he wasn’t meant for me.”

At this point, Kory finally stands from the table. Feels their looks on her, and pulls on a robe from her bedside. Smiles at them both, first Roy and then Jason, and excuses herself to the bathroom. “I’ll be back in a short while,” she says.

It’s no coincidence that she leaves. It’s no coincidence that she gives them time alone.

And when that door closes, Jason is looking at Roy in that silence, staring at him deeply, personally. “Listen,” his voice stable and firm, “I don’t know shit about all this… Fate talk. You know I don’t believe in that. I know some crazy shit happens, but I don’t think it has anything to do with divine purpose.”

“Right,” Roy laughs a little. Laughs without sound.

“But if you ever…” a shiver runs through his body, a shake of his head and the clenching of his hands, as he buries them into the bed’s mattress. “If you ever act like that again, like you’re… suddenly inspired to throw this out the window, over something as bizarre as mythical _Fate_ , so help me God, Roy…” He scoffs. “I will kick your ass on the way out.”

Roy can’t fight the smile that comes over his face.

“Honest to God,” Jason nods at him.

“And then you’ll date me again,” Roy murmurs.

Even as he shakes his head, “Sure, whatever.”

“That’s the point,” Roy smirks.

“What point-”

“Someone with the patience to forgive me.”

Jason’s cynicism shows. “Where is this _forgiveness_ talk coming from? Did Kory say something to you-”

“You forgave Bruce, didn’t you.”

Silence.

“You forgave Talia. And Ra’s. And Dick. You say you’d kill him, and I believe you—I _know_ you would—but it’s not because you’re angry.” Roy chooses this moment to rise to his feet. “You won’t hurt them because you’re angry. Not for what they did. But for what happened to you. Because you’re in pain.”

He’s taking steps forward. Cautiously, even as Jason sustains unsettling, consistent and unfailing eye contact.

“You hurt them, because they hurt you. Not because you hate them. It’s a retaliation. You strike back because you’re wounded. Because you _hurt_ and that makes it better.”

Jason sighs. Allows his posture to relax. Sinks down, only slightly. Sinks and looks up at Roy, with an emotion he can’t readily understand.

Roy stands above him. Looks down, back at him. Leans in.

Kisses Jason with intent. Kisses him like he means it. Gentle and slow. Lets it break naturally. Lets the silence fill the room, blissful silence, necessary silence. Silence that can heal wounds and communicate across barriers and two lifetimes of pain and suffering and never knowing which way to go.

“I don’t understand,” Jason finally says, “Why you ever believed… that Dick would appreciate you.”

“I…” but he trails off. Doesn’t need to finish that statement.

Because that statement means two things. It means that Roy made the wrong choice, to even chase him. But… It also means something more important. Much more.

“You’re worth more than he would ever know.”

-

Roy is pulling a bullet out of Jason’s arm. Jason growls under his breath, but it’s no use. Won’t make it hurt less. Kory is defending their location, up high on patrol. This building was clear when they arrived, but that never lasts long. Too bad the previous one wasn’t. But at least it was a thrill.

“Can you work any faster,” Jason says.

“Goddamn, you need to get shot less,” Roy teases.

“Happens more often when you’re around,” Jason comments.

“Then stop admiring me and get serious.”

“Ha, ha.”

A kiss to the side of his face. A quick yank to the bullet, while he does it. Jason hisses at him, “Fucker.”

“You like me.”

“Ha.”

A yell from above, “We’ve got company!”

Back to work.


End file.
